


Lifeblood Of A Last Call

by orphan_account



Series: Obsessive Aggressive [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Kink, Bondage, Cliffhanger, Duct Tape, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Fingering, Frottage, Kidnapping, Lube, M/M, Masochism, Masochist, No Condom, Sadism, Vagabond, Violence, cumming inside, dub con, dubcon, fake achievement hunter crew - Freeform, kidnap, sadist, vagabond!Ryan, violence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There’s only two codes that start with the number 2 and they are 248, ‘intruder, defend your post’ or 220, ‘clock out, nightshift has arrived.’Jeremy hoped for the latter.But sometimes, hope won’t get you further than a locked door will; so you just have to slam your fists on it until someone answers.





	1. Chapter 1

The warm Los Santos air slid over his head, riding down the ringlet cord of his earpiece like a helter-skelter. Jeremy was stationed on the third west wall, approximately 35 metres on his right and 25 metres on his left away from any other security guard.

The perimeter of the building he was guarding was floored with gravel that crunched under his running shoes—that he forgot to change out of—and a 1.6 meter hedge was 2 metres infront of him; all guards had to have this knowledge memorised by the end of the job debriefing.

His phone was forbidden from being used while on duty but it didn’t matter, the security camera’s blind-spots were the places guards were stationed.

The building he so lazily guarded was the venue for a high-stakes gambling tournament in the upper class community; men and women with millions behind their names sat inside, with leather clad suitcases of their paper money all stored in one room.

Now, surely, you must be thinking ‘that’s not right, that’s stupidly risky and unrealistic.’ Well you’re wrong, as this event was not publicised and was invite only. The venue had weekly bookings from the lower-middle class so it was not suspicious for it to be used and the professional security guards were wearing the uniform of the for-hire guards, this being the reason as to why Jeremy’s neck itched so damn much.

‘Code 825, all guards not on corner stances to make their way into the building as soon as possible, that is Code 825.’

The earpiece crackled to a silence and in the distance Jeremy could faintly hear gravel crunching. He was on the first corner, going anti-clockwise as directed, therefore he continued not doing his job and matching little virtual coloured sweeties into trios.

The numbing quietness returned and the ever-so faint clacking of poker chips returned, along with a little thing Jeremy couldn’t quite place.

As one clack clicked, a symphony of what sounded like thrown chips clicked.

“God, I hope the snobs are fighting.”

Before his daydream of capitalists-in-training and trust fund babies sparring to the death could even begin, a scream shot through the building and died off before it could hit the hedge.

‘CODE 2-‘

The earpiece cut out mid-order, the shriek of a dead line piercing through his eardrum like a hangover headache; something he had much experience with.

“Ah, _fuck_!”

The smooth device was a struggle to get out of his ear, but the brain fog was even worse. Why was there screams? What was the code? There’s only two codes that start with the number 2 and they are 248, ‘intruder, defend your post’ or 220, ‘clock out, nightshift has arrived.’

Jeremy hoped for the latter.

The walkie on his belt buzzed and he unclipped it so fast his brain fog was blown away, revealing the opposite of reassurance that everything was fine.

“Chief!”

‘All remaining guards, leave your posts for main hall, safety off and triggers readied.”

Oh fuck- Oh fuck- Oh fuck- Oh fuck- Oh fuck- Oh fu-

‘Jesus Christ, it’s the Vagabond!’

OH _FUC_-

Screams and wails bruised the air, fishing nets of fear-induced paralysis wrapped around him so tight that the only thing he could focus on was the immense feeling of approaching death and the tightness in his throat as the last scream bled into the dull thud of a body.

The atmosphere fell silent, vacuuming around him.

There was no single tear that ran down his cheek. There was no dropping to his knees and staring, horrified, at his hands. There was no scream of anguish, there was just his throat contracting against his will and him sitting back and letting it.

He didn’t even bother to let go of the walkie talkie, just letting the dead buzzing drone on, the footsteps draw nearer, the silence grow louder and louder.

In a swift motion, the window was slid open and a body landed on top of him, slamming them both to the ground, uncoordinated.

“What the- oh for fucks sake.”

His eyes centred in on the signature mask as soon as the punch had reached his jaw.

***

When his eyes opened again, he was in the back of a van. That was all he noticed, the ceiling was of white metal and the walls were untamed wood- splinters all pointing at him like a trial.

His hands and feet were bound with, assumingly, the duct tape that sat on a nail above him, his uniform was now just his underwear and the remnants of his earpiece and walkie were strung across the vehicle like some wild hog’s guts in a hyena based nature documentary.

“Hello?”

“Wh- Oh.”

Behind him, the drivers door opened and closed. He almost convinced himself that the window had been open and he heard his kidnapper remember that he was supposed to drive Jeremy home; until the two doors infront of him opened.

Jeremy’s body ached all over and he just slumped when the body of the Vagabond opened the doors; mask clinging to his face like a slice of liver to Hannibal Lector’s plate.

“Oh, fuck. Oh no, please, ple-“

Fat tears formed in Jeremy’s eyes when his begging was cut short by the modern-day grim-reaper stepping into the back of the van. The shitty little bulb that hang above them shook in fear as the doors slammed shut instantly.

“Please, dude, I don’t want to die,” Jeremy sobbed, “I have a family-“

“Don’t start with that bullshit.”

He turned around and swung fast, swiping his knuckles across Jeremy’s nose and smearing it across his own cheek.

His right ear hit wood as his head moved with the punch. The bone in his nose shattered in flesh and blood gushed from the inner wound.

Air forced its way out of Jeremy’s lungs- partly because the Vagabond has crouched down to his slumped body and was inches away from his face.

“What did you see back there.”

Back there? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he was knocked out, then.

“You, in the-“

Another punch wiped his blood across his nose while he sobbed. His tongue burned copper and his teeth went a sick shade of orange, his lips were chapped and split in multiple places and the ringing in his head just got louder.

“Wrong answer.”

The Vagabond grabbed his bound wrists and lifted, pulling the man to his feet. Never did he realise how short he was until he was stood next to — no, beneath — such a giant.

The serial killers gloved thumb reached his face and images of Pyramid Head pulling the skin off of people suddenly plagued his thoughts. Goddamn Silent Hill.

But instead, as soft as leather can be, the thumb swiped across his upper lip with ease. Comforting, as scarlet red filled the cracks of the black glove, he was filled with confusion.

“Open your mouth.”

The way he said it was exactly the way a rapist might bully its prey before taking what it wants.

Not a thought, not one single thought before Jeremy complied. The thumb slipped over his tongue and the iron bled into his tastebuds.

It felt like a thousand years before the Vagabond pulled his thumb back. Jeremy’s eyes were closed but tears didn’t spill any faster than how the moment felt.

Suddenly, he was filled with an unwanted sense of emotion.

Sick blue eyes stabbed into his own, glaring daggers that ripped open the softness of the moment like a sheet. The taste of his own nosebleed was suddenly more apparent.

“You liked that?”

His voice was thick and emotionless. It was nothing more than a question, period. No disgust or confusion apparent.

“I- uh..”

His cheeks fluttered pink, then flared red as heavy-set fingers flew up and dig into his airways.

“Wow. _Woooowww_.”

The sudden hand around his throat did nothing to stop the flow of blood into his face, but somehow did everything possible to prevent any sliver of air to his brain.

“Now, I thought _I_ was unusual; yknow, being a criminal so deadly that he’s mentioned in recent police officer training textbooks.”

A sultry wink directed his way slapped Jeremy in the face as he continues to listen.

“But a guy who’s attracted to being fed his own blood? Now _that’s_ just unusually weird.”

Jeremy didn’t audibly reply, but the squeak from his choked throat and the throb of blood into his face said it all. He tried to dip his head down in shame, anything to get away from the attention-grabbing icicles that were the Vagabonds eyes, but he couldn’t.

“Say, why don’t we have some fun?”

The cow hide glove tightened as fast as it threw him—neck first—into the wall on his right; Jeremys back collected splinters like raindrops in a thunderstorm as his body slid down the back wall and crashed. He slammed his temple against the wall and felt as the blood inside did a double take.

As his nosebleed grew thicker, a sneaker smashed against his bare stomach repeatedly.

One-second intervals was all Jeremy got as the foot bruised his torso, blood crept up his trachea wearing a costume of vomit and was expelled accordingly—into his own palm.

“Now that’s fucking gross.”

Vomited blood slunk out of the cracks in his fingers and sprayed every which way, like a flowing tap when you put your finger over it.

To be honest, it was quite a display.

“Are you done?”

Jeremy coughed and hacked up the last of it and looked up, drooling up the blood of the puddle he sat in.

“What do- whaddya’ think?”

Cold eyes looked over him like a blanket of falling snow and the icy shiver that scraped over his back felt appropriate.

“What do I think?”

The Vagabond looked over him and reached over the wood, over the seats of the van. It creaked loudly at the shift of weight and Jeremy hoped to god someone came to investigate.

“I think,” Vagabond continued, “that _you_ haven’t fucking _bled_ enough yet.”

The knife was small handled but heavy in blade. It had a serrated tip that looked accidental and the carbon handle was smooth and gripped, all grey and shiny.

It was one of Ryan’s favourites, he stole it from a contract who’d been set out to kill him. Too bad that now she sat, only purple, veiny webbing dressing her, ground up inside a ‘Vinewood’ sign electricity service box.

The security guard infront of him looked a fucking mess. He sat in a small puddle of his own blood with it running all down his face and over his thighs.

It was pretty hot.

“Now, if you’re going to scream, please make it worth my while. Do it loud or not at all.”

Gosh, it’d been long since he was able to have some fun with a person.

The man quivered before him, looking like exhaustion was falling over him. His knees were brought up to his chest and his eyes were closed lazily.

The sharp tip of the device poked into the shins flesh nicely. The little puff of released tension was always satisfying as it dipped inside the body. Time to get to work!

It was effortless, like cutting through plastic wrap. One of Ryan’s hands death-gripped the man’s knee so he couldn’t kick it up while he screamed and sucked air through his teeth. It was like playing two music boxes over eachother as they synced beautifully.

Small beads surfaced and swam down, through the cracks in this man’s skin. Over the small scars that looked like they were from childhood and into other small streams.

“You’re being relatively quiet. Is this getting you off?”

The man’s eyes were teary, but glaring nonetheless.

“I’m not giving you what you want, you motherfucker.”

“I don’t want anything. I just wanna make you forget you saw me, it’s your fault for getting off on this that I’m still carving into you like some sadistic tramp-stamp artist.”

His cheeks flushed pink and he shut up. How much Ryan got off on having people submit was evident in the situation in his pants.

He scraped one last arch into the dripping flesh and leaned back to admire his work; soft sirens of ‘you’re exposing your torso’ blared in his mind but, in the state he was in, the guard wouldn’t be attacking anytime soon.

“What did you write?”

His breathlessness made Ryan’s own breath hitch, like he was crawling towards orgasm with a wide streak of orange and red trailing behind him.

Ryan leaned forward, roughly grabbing the others cheeks with the Vagabonds viper-like grip, and pulled his head towards him until he was close enough the bite the guards ear off.

“You’re my ‘_blood slut_.’”

Albeit a rather uncreative phrase, the shiver than coursed through the other man was undeniable.

“That make your little cock fill up? Answer me, slut.”

The man’s eyes were screwed shut and if he didn’t know any better it looked like he was stumped on a brain teaser.

Y’know, until his hips jacked upwards and the almost-scarily hard erection hit Ryan in the knee.

“You little fucking perv! I knew you were getting off on this!”

Pushing himself away, Ryan laughed to himself as he reached upwards for the duct tape - still obediently hanging from a nail.

He fiddled with the end of the tape for a while, eyes occasionally focusing out onto his victim. It was clear no thoughts were going through his head other than the throbbing ache of his dick.

The tape shrieked and Ryan used his foot to kick Jeremy onto his stomach. The man was small but built like a tank, so it was harder than it looked.

His wrists were now bound, underneath his groin and his face was flat on the floor, ass up.

He got down, purposefully working his own erection between the man’s asscheeks, and slipped the tape underneath him. He wrapped and wrapped it around until he was sure there was no way he was going to be able to push himself back up.

“What’s your name, guard?”

Silence. Not a good answer to any of the Vagabonds questions, in hindsight.

“I have ways to make you talk that won’t make you happy. For instance,” Ryan looked down and scooped a trail of bloody saliva from the puddle underneath them, “I could get my little bottle of jelly, or I could improvise.”

“...Jeremy.”

“That’s my good boy. Open.”

He didn’t understand the question until the weight on his back progressed and a coppery finger was burrowing it’s way into his lips.

Then again, he didn’t refuse either. He opened his mouth slightly, letting the digit intrude and rub against his tongue. The taste of iron and the faintest undertones of bile ransacked his tastebuds and imprinted behind his teeth, making sure he wouldn’t forget the flavour.

Experimentally, he close his lips around it and sucked his own blood off of his abductors finger.

What a sentence.

“Just keep sucking, bitch.”

The other fingerless-gloved hand slipped from his elevated hips to his legs — and promptly forced them apart. His knee collected a few more splinters but the hurt-filled whimper he let out around the finger must’ve been mistaken for a good thing.

“Oh my god, you’re a masochist, aren’t you?”

The Vagabond asked. Well, he didn’t ask so much as state it.

“No wonder you’re such a fucking freak for me.”

Jeremy had experimented with sadomasochism before, letting his previous partners rough him up against walls and what not; the furthest he’d ever gone was letting a one night stand lock his junk into a chastity cage for the experience—never would he have even considered trying to roleplay his own kidnap and assault.

“Well, don’t worry,” the finger was slipped out of his mouth with a pop and he was shoved onto his right shoulder with a thud, forced to stare at the most dangerous criminal on this side of the country, “Daddy’s gonna make sure you wish you’d never fucked with him.”

The fear that pooled in this ‘Jeremy’s eyes was sweeter than sugar to Ryan. It was like someone had paused the TV the second somebody in a drama had just learned that their child had been murdered by their own ex-spouse.

“I didn’t do any- you fell onto _me_!”

The Vagabond snorted a bit at that and rolled the man back onto his arms and stomach.

“It’s human nature to run away from danger. That fact that you didn’t is your fault.”

Unable to argue much more due to his face being smushed, Jeremy resorted to wriggling and kicking out as much as he could.

He would try his hardest to go down with a fight. He grunted and kicked and groaned and writhed, whatever he could to stop Vagabond.

But he heard the telling rip of his boxers’ seam and a wolf whistle that did nothing short of disgust him.

“Ah-hah! This is where it’s going to get fun, Jeremy baby.”

Panic set in faster and he writhed more, uncaring to the blunt force trauma in his abdomen that made itself more apparent with every jerk. He screamed against the wood and the screamed some more, trying to push himself at all. His hips were held in place by the leather gloves like they were paintbrushes, wiping dark purple and blue bruising all over his waist.

A thick, wet, warm stripe from his balls to his asshole shut him up though.

A shiver fell down his back like an avalanche and he tensed in the best way. He could’ve swore he heard the man say something, but his head was full of liquid lust and by god, he was swimming.

The licks continued and Jeremy’s body stilled. They were slow, wide and with each stroke he could feel the little drag of his own skin. With each climax of the licks, the tip of the Vagabonds tongue would dip inside and clip the rim of his hole.

It was fucking euphoric, to say the least.

“See what happens when you’re good and quiet?”

The stripes got more frustrated, the other man’s muscle being pushed harder into his groin.

Then, they abruptly stopped.

The peeling of leather from skin fell on his ears and the small pop of a bottle reeled in his attention. The ketchup bottle-like squirt didn't do much to help, either.

“I’m going to open you up, but not because I want a little _masochist_ like yourself to be deprived of pleasure,” he enunciated the word ‘masochist’ with a sharp slap to his thigh, “but because it just hurts my cock if you’re not gonna get wet for me.”

The now gloveless hand was in his visual blind spot as the lube was poured onto it. In fact, the majority of his surroundings were in his visual blind spot. But it only made his other senses feel quite enhanced, which was bad in the situation where his abductor was slowly teasing his entrance with dripping digits.

“Please, please, just..”

Jeremy sobbed. The ever so faint tensing in the intruding finger was noticed, the anger just barely picked up on.

“Oh, but teasing it so fun. If you say so, slut.”

The spindly yet broad finger suddenly bottomed out inside of him, right to the knuckle.

But the moan that followed was, ultimately, more noteworthy.

His palm faced the ceiling of the van, that much Jeremy could feel. The finger was warm inside of him, an intruder not unwelcome but not actively invited.

“Please, please, please..”

It dragged out of him, a feeling so horribly uncomfortable almost all feeling of pleasure dissipated—until it slammed back in and jabbed him hard in the prostate. His hands clenched underneath his ass and his back arched, only driving the finger deeper into his g-spot.

“Please what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, Jeremy tried to grind into the fingertip; with each roll of his hips, like a fork screaming down a dinner plate, the finger scraped further away until it wasn’t touching anything at all.

“Please what?”

He didn’t answer. Jeremy bit his tongue and tried to swallow down his hunger, not wanting to give in like some—some cheap van-slag.

It was quiet for a record time of 2 second before fours dry fingers and one wet finger pierced the air with a skin-on-skin chime.

The slap almost pushed the answer out of him.

“God, just get it over with, will you! Get it over with or let me go, you son of a bitch!”

He seemed to mull over this, rolling it between his teethed and squishing it like one would a mushroom at the greengrocers, seeing if it was worth their time at all.

“Jeremy,” his name was like dark chocolate on the Vagabonds voice, “God isn’t here.”

It struck him not unlike a spear to the heart, but a lot like a nuclear bomb landing directly on him. Like a huge portion of his body has just been stamped with a ‘fuck’ shaped cookie cutter.

The unzip of his trousers was deafening.

The handprint had started to welt on his victims ass, but he promised himself that it wouldn’t be the only red, swollen thing. Not by a long shot.

Ryan tugged himself out of his underwear without showing even a hint of his neediness. Seeing as he’d never toyed with a masochist before, he had just a brush of curiosity on him. Yes, that was the right word. He was just curious.

He decided not to bother with more lube, instead just wiping the remainder off of his fingers and onto the head of his cock. Should be enough inside to get his rhythm going.

He didn’t bother with words as he buried himself in the bitch beneath him. The silence was already occupied with the positively erotic noises that dribbled from Jeremy.

The head was sucked in by the security guards rim and it was like heaven in a hole.

“God, you’re really a virgin.”

Ryans hand squeezed onto the beginnings of love handles and ground his way inside, mostly letting the lube slip him in. Jeremy held back his tears best he could which was not at all enough, as dark patches blotted the wooden floor.

“Please, fuck, just speed up..” he whispered.

Ryan had heard this and acknowledged it just a bit, just a tinge. He ever-so-slowly got to the mid section of his cock and stayed there motionless.

“God, you’re such a fucking whore, aren’t you?”

His hands gripped hard on the pudgy flesh and he was determined to leave sickly sweet crimson bruised along the hips of his bitch.

When no answer followed, crying was not an acceptable answer, Ryan took to it that Jeremy would answer.

“Aren’t you? Say it, slut. You’re a godless little whore.”

Jeremy cried into the floor, mind fogged with just the smallest sweetness of ecstasy and a lot with the licks of pain from his shin pressing against the floor.

The cock inside him was huge, from what he could tell. Just the head widened him and it was overwhelming, like trying to slide onto a plug one size too big.

“I’m your whore,” he mumbled through the tears.

The reaction he got for his little mistake could’ve encouraged him, in that moment, to start an appreciation club for the Vagabonds dick.

A silky groan fell on his ears and he was rewarded with the rest of the cock burrowing inside of him, the leaking tip nudging directly into his prostate and running sparks of pink electricity deep through his spine.

“That’s right, _my_ whore.”

Ryan leaned back and picked the knife up again, the blood on the blade having gone cold. He licked it clean and thrusted, hard, into his whore.

Jeremy’s erotic little squeal was all he needed to go through with his idea; he hooked his arm down Jeremy’s waist and found his cock, a cock Ryan was determined on owning. The blade pressed into it, not hard enough to sever but hard enough to press the fully erect dick into Jeremy’s stomach, holding it there like a hostage.

“You’ll be good for me, or I’ll cut your worthless little cock off and make you watch me swallow the blood from it, _capiche_?”

He felt the twitch under his knife.

“Yes—yessir.”

He pulled out again, dragging, slowly; thrusting back in to the hilt like re-sheathing a sword.

With each bump of hips-against-ass, the knife scraped ever so slightly on Jeremy’s cock. He could feel his own heartbeat on his fupa (fat upper penis area) and in his mouth. With each thrust forward, his forehead slid down a tad on the rough ply floor and was consequently pulled back up—gives you a good idea of how hard he was clenching, no?

For a second, just a moment, Jeremy wondered how bad this situation actually was. How bad was it, he could stand a few bruises and a good dicking down never hurt anybody.

The knife on his cock was for aesthetic purposes, anyways.

Or that’s what he told himself.

“God, you’re such a fucking treat,” the Vagabond removed the knife from his cock and positioned it at the base of his spine, still thrusting, “how how would it be if I skinned you while I fucked you, huh? Or maybe, twinged my knife just a little too _deep_,” with that last word, the blade wrenched vertically, knifes tip pressing into his spine, “and nicked you in just the right place,” he dragged it in time with his thrusts, going down three times and left once, “and made you my paralysed little cockslut? we could take your legs off too, if you liked.”

The lustful squeezing around his cock just made him pump harder, keeping his timing rhythmic.

“If I cut you low enough, you might even be able to still feel me _ruin your ass_.”

Ryan pushed the knifes tip down his whores lower back and dragged it into the small valley of his ass until it met his own cock.

He never realised how fucking beautiful Jeremy was until now.

His back was soft and tanned and his shoulder were stiff, in need of massage; his waist and love handles pillowy with enough room for him to be able to caress down his V-line, he had 2 moles on the right shoulder blade and the celtic necklace he hadn’t paid attention to before this left a soft pink line across his neck.

And, of course, there was the beading drops of blood crawling out of the foot-long tear down to his ass.

And, as if crafted by angels, his ass..

It was fucking hot, Ryan had to admit. It was a smooth transition from his lower back and it was holdable. Spandex breath suits, lingerie one-size too small, steel wire; Ryan wanted him to model them all.

For him.

“I’m going to cum in your ass, fuck.”

It was purely in the moment, but he was considering it with how jumpy the slut became underneath him.

“Wh-What? Sir, please—plea-“

It melted into a whine before his very ears and he was suddenly very aware of how tight he’d become. Both men, in fact.

“I’m going to cum in your ass, fuck.”

The feeling Jeremy got was like someone had just filled up every one of his organs with warm, pink, silky fluids. It was like heaven in a condom.

“Wh-What? Sir, please—plea-“

The thought of him desperately trying to crawl away, all being an act, as the Vagabond clamps onto his hips and drives himself to climax in Jeremy’s ass was enough to throw him towards his own orgasm.

“Fuck, yes. Beg for me to fill you up, you _bitch_.”

And without another thought being made, a stiff bicep hooked him around the neck and choked him off.

His lungs locked up, his throat shut down and the immediate burning feeling scraped at his lungs. He weakly tried to push the arm off of him by squishing it with his neck but it was no use; With each passing year of being trapped in the man’s vice-like grip, he’d get bumped up by the thrusting and could suck in a fraction of a breath.

After three seconds he felt like he’d aged and after another three he was ready to give in, to submit to death with a handshake and an orgasm.

He felt like a pig on a roast, all he needed now was an apple in his mouth and he’d be the perfect meal for the Vagabond.

He could feel the cock tightening in his ass, moulding him to his size, the lube having worn off and the slick being purely pre and sweat.

“God, fuck, my little whore—“

It was incredible.

Like Jeremy’s whole body had been lit on fire at once and he’d been cut in half from the bottom upwards.

Hot, white static buzzed through his ears like a bike lock around his head and he had a bigger urge to get up and furiously make out with the Vagabond rather than he did breathe, at this moment.

He screamed into the ply floor, wet with his tears and blood as his asshole got filled with the Vagabonds cum.

The Vagabonds cum.

Fucking wow.

The heated daze lingered and swept through the air, even as the hardly-softened prick was pulled out of him and definitely as he felt the seed get pushed out of him.

“I love you.”

The air didn’t freeze, it didn’t heat up, it just suffocated Ryan.

He was mid-wipe of his cock on his shirt when his quick fuck started to speak, who he had honestly forgotten was there for a while.

“_What_?”

He tucked himself back into his boxers—slightly sticky due to the patchy sweat gleaming on his skin—and looked back at the man, still hard as a whore and tied up.

He considered untying him, just for a moment. Considered.

“I love you. I—“

“Save it. You don’t love me.”

He turned away from the desperate beacon that was Jeremy’s singular unbloodied eye. It was almost pleading, pleading for him.

He didn’t respond after that. The silence was beating down on him like a day out in the sun, as he cleared up the mess.

Ryan opened both of the back doors of the van and pulled— and dragged Jeremy over to him by one of the duct tape straps; he unravelled the tape that held his legs still and was coloured guilty at the noises of pain. He rotated Jeremy from his stomach, off of the side of the van and caught him just as he’d slipped over the edge, noticing the whimper that haunted Jeremy’s throat. Ryan sat Jeremy in the passenger seat.

He usually wouldn’t clean up the van, he thought to himself as he rehooked the duct tape onto its nail, but anything was better than diving head first into a conversation that could potentially lower his guard and have him catch feelings.

Though, unfortunately, there’s not a lot to clean up in a van.

He hopped out and locked up, making his way back over to the front doors.

It wouldn’t be hard to leave him here.

He can’t move, scream, call for help, use a phone or anything. This trail is devoid of any strangers. Ryan could just fuck off and light it on fire, or let the birds have him, or just let him freeze.

He looked to his right, the parking lot was in the middle of nowhere; it was a pit stop for travellers with a bathroom block far, far away from where he resided this end of the parking lot.

It wouldn’t matter if someone wondered why the van was parked here, many people sleep here and the woodlands that were just behind the toilet block were common hunting grounds.

If he were to never get into the van, just skip down a banking and jam his thumb onto the motorways road, he could forget that Jeremy ever happened. Hitchhike back to Los Santos where the gamblers cash would be waiting for him more obediently than any common slut ever could.

He pulled the door of the drivers seat open.

Hoisting himself inside, he could see that Jeremy wanted to ask something. His eyes wavered in the space between them and his feet bounced on his toes even as he was sitting down.

“What do you want to say.”

He gathered his phone and the van keys from the cup holder and pocketed them, wasting away in the mumblings of his victim.

“I—I’m confused. Whats going to happen now?”

Ryan leaned over Jeremy, not a shred of fear in his body that he might get grabbed or stabbed or pushed or hit—

He buckled Jeremy’s seatbelt for him as he crafted his answer.

“This.”

He exited the vehicle.


	2. Retake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex can really define the highs and lows of not having any other option than to stay with your abductee and fuck him senseless, but the majority of the time the lows shine through most.

His encased hands pawed at his own erection, desperate. His breath came out in sweet fogged clouds and his sweat beaded across his forehead like a well used candle. His thigh muscles and tail bone had gone staticky and were fizzling in-and-out of reality and the duct tape holding him caught like an animal was only worsening it.

His body was hot with his own feverish blush and his mind was hot with the only thing he could comprehend; _him_. The Vagabond.

Jeremy’s brain banged against his skull like a washing machine gone rogue, the fuel of his attraction being blurs of gunfire and violence, fist to flesh.

The Vagabond was above him, barely crouching more than he was leaning fully against the wall behind Jeremy—the wall _around_ Jeremy. He was fully clothed, his hair a mess from Jeremy’s desperate prods. His face was a dripping shade of scarlet from the heat and his vocabulary consisted of groans that never strayed far from erotic.

He enveloped Jeremy in his entirety, even if his knees weren’t being forced into his pecs like a folded shirt he was sure the Vagabond would still be comfortable swallowing him whole at Jeremys full height.

His eyes were stapled to Jeremy’s groin and Jeremy’s eyes likewise, except the thick layers of tape that gloved his hands made any unzipping unthinkable.

Let’s see what fucked up train of events dropped us at this station, shall we, reader?

Panic and fear instilled in him the second his abductor slid away.

The door clicked open and his jaw locked, the man stepped down and Jeremy’s lungs collapsed, he heard the telling thud of boots on gravel and it was all caving in on him.

The drivers door slammed shut in rhythm with his snagging seatbelt, desperate attempts to free himself, to get back to safety—to get back to the Vagabond.

“No!! NO!!”

The way he nonchalantly left the vehicle silenced everything else;

‘You're not the first one he’s whored out and then left to die.’

Jeremy didn’t want to end up like this.

The way each step felt like his ankles were broken should’ve been the first sign.

Ryan paced about 4 parking spaces before he turned and stepped into the brief stretch of trees and foliage. He slid down the banking and caught himself on a traffic barrier, cool metal seeping into his bones. It was a bite down on his hands but he held on harder, like trying to train a dog.

It was always hard the first few minutes.

The deadweight of a body increases tenfold when it’s laying on your conscious.

The traffic was fast, unforgiving. He assumed Jeremy would prefer being killed on impact than wait until he starves in a toilet block parking lot.

He knew _he_ preferred it, stale air isn’t good breakfast.

Oil trucks clambered on by like whales, carrying flocks of motorcyclists like it’s young. Jeeps strode infront of anything they saw weaker and the Ford KA’s slowed a few mp/h like it was the norm. Society of the highway.

He thought of how it would play out if he were to step into the rushing current; a foreigner in their ocean. It’s inevitable he’d get mowed down like a hyperactive strand of kelp.

It’d shatter his hips immediately, maybe vaporise his femur if a grill was low enough. His lower ribs and vertebrae would be unsalvageable if he dared step into the asphalt water.

He let go of the traffic barrier.

It only did more to remind him of Jeremy. Smearing the man’s nosebleed over his own face like Ryan’s own warm, leaky painting, beating the fluids out of him until he cannot physically take it anymore, the smallest lick of fat under his flesh that allows knives to simply swim through his skin.

His mind rushed from thought to fantasy, window-shopping through the last few hours of memory lane.

Until he stopped dead in his tracks on a particularly twisted bundle of thoughts; what if he returned a few days later to the van where he could nurse Jeremy back to health, nurturing him into Stockholm Syndrome. Seeing the man’s name show on the news under ‘freaky bondage fetish guy dies in hot car’. Passing through the parking lot in places he knew Jeremy could see him, but not paying any mind to the van.

Watching him decompose and leak into the car seat. Watching Jeremy kill himself to resist satiating Ryan’s need for painful deaths. Watching him rot away until, eventually, the only living thing in him would be Ryan’s cock. Until he wasn’t anything more than Ryan’s.

What came next was like being snapped out of intrusive thoughts, unwilling but would be appreciated later.

The soft apologetic look on Jeremy’s face when Ryan fell on him. The way how, even while barely conscious, he still leaned into Ryan for warmth.

How he didn’t immediately cry when he realised the situation he was in. The radiating blush on his cheeks and his honeydew glow, the doe eyes and polite begging. The way he says ‘I love you’ with all the emotion he can stuff into a single word.

Then the tears, the patchy redness of his split flesh, the vomit collected under his chin and how his toes curled when he was afraid.

Hyperventilating himself into a AC unit and his distinguishable whines of pleasure and fear. The way you could feel the fight left in him by how tense his thighs were.

It wasn’t the wholesomeness that made Ryan run back, nor was it the painful things.

It was simply the fact he wouldn’t be able to see those things again.

He stared through the traffic and then he looked back, barely turning his head enough to see the rest of the grass behind him.

It was like trying to pull out of a resin mould. He was made like this, he’s supposed to fill this violent, apathetic space. But the second he got through that fear, the suction let up on his metaphorical mould and he scrambled backwards.

His fingernails collected dirt as he fell onto the banking, desperate to get back.

Sharp bundles of nettle thrust straight through his skin and into his palm but it was just another background noise under the shining scream of the van.

Under the shining reality that was Jeremy.

His foothold gave way under the pressure but he was flying upwards, getting up onto the banking with a little daze and a little trip, caught on a tree.

He started into a dead sprint across the lot, barely rendering the new cars over the other side; his eyes were locked on the still-thrashing man in the van.

The gravel flicked behind him, the sound was as painful as Jeremy's audible cries for help.

He slammed into the van, wrist bones jolting through his palms. He was yanking on the door handle before his hand even met the car key and he practically stepped directly upwards, no time for the steps.

“Oh Jesus fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t realise his arms were wrapped around the broad shoulders before his face was already submerged in patchy sweat and stubble on his ear.

The shaking didn’t falter his grasp and the sting of salt didn’t divert his kisses.

“What— what are y-“

“No, no please. Dont say anything. Don’t talk.”

The blistering second between this and Jeremy disgustedly spitting out “how can you expect me to shut up and take this while I was just preparing for my own death?” was not enough for his fantasies of happiness to begin.

He pulled away and sensory overload became uncomfortably apparent; It sank through his skin the way corpse juice would leak from the pores of a dead body and into a car seat; heavily.

The feeling of Jeremys half-assed sweat on his arms was chalky. Like the type of texture that will leave a stain on your fingers - no, not a stain; an uncomfortable residue. The type of feeling that leaves you feeling ashen and kind of like you’ve dropped your conscience into a paper shredder. Chalky.

“What?”

Ryan’s voice crack sealed the package.

“Are you fucking dense? You were about to leave me to die!”

Ryan didn’t know how to properly convey that he was going to, yes, but he _didn’t_. So he just sat there and wondered how he went and fucked this up.   
Anger bubbled under the surface of his skin.

“You- you— you kidnap me, assault me—you fuck me and then pretend to leave me to die. All without even knowing your name, did yo-“

“Ryan.”

He unintentionally said it with malice; The smallest bit of leeway he was given was, in fact, not what Jeremy wanted to hear — apparent by the look that twisted into the creases of his face — but he was willing to do anything to calm this situation down a bit. His hands felt like they were melting.

“Ryan? Ryan?! Do you think your fucking name is the first thing you should be answering?”

Ryan tried not to get mad, he really did.

“What the fuck else do you expect from me?! Yeah, I was going to leave you to rot like a whore but I came back for you! I came back, I don’t know why, but I fucking did, okay?!”

Jeremy turned away from him as sharply as someone tied up and naked could in this situation, the sob was dreadfully apparent in his voice as he retorted.

“I just wish I never took that fucking job.”

He was looking straight through the windshield, but not at anything outside. The burn of held back tears was practically radiating off of him like cigarette smoke and Ryan was about to get second-hand lung cancer.

Now, dear reader, you understand how people work, don’t you? You can see when people, Jeremy, haven’t really understood what’s happening. When some people don’t think that this is real life, and instead a movie where everything’s going to end out fine.

The cinematic depictions of rage never stuck with Ryan. It was never blaring in his ears, his vision going red or something cliche like a fire in his soul.

It was always just him. The timer that was constantly going in his brain during arguments— every second you spend not standing your ground is another bullet in your back later down the line.

And then he slotted right back into that resin mould.

“Well aren’t you lucky,”

His hand reached out and grabbed the duct tape on Jeremys chest, both turning him towards Ryan and surprising him.

“That _I’m_ a simple guy to apologise to.”

The tiniest hint of curiosity flickered in Jeremy's eyes. Or maybe it was confusion. To be honest, Ryan didn’t actually care whether he wanted it or not.

He slipped out of the van and trekked around the back, opening both of the doors as he went. It still smelled like sex and sweat.

His shoes kicked against the gravel as he pulled Jeremys door open, the near-naked man

shivered in the frost-touched air; the way he untensed as Ryan’s hand slipped around his shoulders was the same kind of ill you feel after eating a slice of cake. He kicked it closed with his foot as Jeremy stuttered.

“Ryan, I—I-“

“Woah there, what happened to ‘my whore’? Shouldn’t you be calling me Sir?”

The man slunk back into himself in Ryan’s arms.

As Ryan threw Jeremy into the back of the van, he scrambled to get on his knees. Ryan stepped into the van, both doors closing behind him as the light drained out.

The shitty little lightbulb illuminated the room, to Jeremy on his knees, thighs spread, purposely presenting his package.

The way Ryan’s fist rose up gave him the _perfect_ angle of Jeremys face realising he had horribly misread the situation, and how the stem of his nose flattened under his knuckles.

“**You**,”

He reeled back down hard into Jeremys ear,

“**Are**,”

As he fell on his shoulder, Ryan caught his jaw,

“**A**,”

His conjoined arms failed to protect him from the onslaught.

“**_Whore_**.”

Ryan continued to jab him in the face until his knuckles were coloured red, but not from his own blood. He stopped when a mouthful of blood spattered out of Jeremys lips, only to begin digging his heel into his stomach.

“Ryan—I’m sorry-“

Ryan smiled and stepped back.

“Oh yeah, your _sorry_ is all over the fuckin’ place.”

Jeremy sobbed into his arms for protection as he shuffled backwards, spitting orange-tinted saliva.

“Aw man, your sorry is all over my shoe.”

The bones in his face swished around like the dregs of a glass of whiskey.

His eyes were teary and it made his feel like an animal at SeaWorld; trapped in his own tank, with dangerous beings just outside the wall.

He pushed himself up against the back wall of the back of the van like an afraid cat in a travel cage, knowing that the vet is going to cause it pain, desperate to not be handed over like a slab of meat on a tray.

“Y’know how you said that you loved me?”

Jeremys face scrunched up. It was heat-of-the-moment sex talk.

“Yeah.”

“If you can still love me after this, I’ll let you go. _Deal_?”

The splintered wood around him seemed to all crack and twist to point at him, like Judgement Day. The smear of his own blood no more than a foot away was an alarm, blaring at him to answer. The Vagabond’s face didn’t stay frozen in that smug, icy grin but it sure as hell lasted years as Jeremy jumbled through his words.

“Deal—yes.”

Time stopped as the Vagabond strode towards him. It couldn’t have been more than a metre or so, but it was all the time needed for Jeremys brain to convert to prey mode.

“No, no, no, no, _no_—“

Ryan’s body dropped towards him and his tongue slipped between Jeremys panicked fumbling. The only thing that stopped Jeremy from melting right there was the stiff hand clenching his jaw, directing his movements.

Jeremys mouth fell open and the Vagabond swiped once more before trailing a mixture of kisses and bites down his jaw, under his neck and on his collar bones.

It was the best kind of overstimulation there was.

His teeth dragged to Jeremys neck like a bear would drag its paw and he bit down; like his saliva was made of instant-effect aphrodisiac, Jeremy fully moaned.

It hurt. It really hurt, but it was really good. He leaned forward, into the Vagabond, and wrapped his arms around him as he felt—

Being pushed off?

“Woah—!”

Ryan had flung himself backwards, his pupils contracted down to mere specks in the blue-green swamps that were his eyes, and breathlessly, manically laughed.

“What did I do?”

“You’re a bit too handsy for a whore. Here,” he pushed up, grabbed the suspended duct tape, and refocused on Jeremy.

No matter how many times he did it, every time his eyes glanced at him, Jeremys heart stopped.

“Hands out, baby.”

Jeremy pushed his wrists together and hesitantly presented them to the Vagabond.

He tightly enveloped his hands, as Jeremy wished he interlocked them, and broke the tape with his teeth. The way his eyes met Jeremys as he bit down was intentional, he could’ve sworn.

“Now, legs up. C’mon, you can do it.”

He taped Jeremys thighs to his calves and it burned. But god, the way he looked at Jeremy when he was all wrapped up like a present for him? It couldn’t possibly be more worth it.

“That’s my good boy. See? When you’re good, you get rewarded.”

He finished up with a final wrap of duct tape around his head, assuring that he wasn’t able to part his lips. Jeremy had never felt more wanted; it almost disgusted him.

The Vagabond gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, before digging the heel of his palm into his cock. His fingertips dug in and scraped up his length, palming him like Wolverine.

“Christ, it’s only been an hour since I last finished and I’m already hard as nails.”

Jeremy looked down and it was true, the unmistakeable erection in those blood-spotted faded blue jeans just made him that much more horny.

His encased hands pawed at his own erection, desperate. His breath came out in sweet fogged clouds and his sweat beaded across his forehead like a well used candle. His thigh muscles and tail bone had gone staticky and were fizzling in-and-out of reality and the duct tape holding him caught like an animal was only worsening it.

His body was hot with his own feverish blush and his mind was hot with the only thing he could comprehend; _him_. The Vagabond.

Jeremy’s brain banged against his skull like a washing machine gone rogue, the fuel of his attraction being blurs of gunfire and violence, fist to flesh.

The Vagabond was above him, barely crouching more than he was leaning fully against the wall behind Jeremy—the wall around Jeremy. He was fully clothed, his hair a mess from Jeremy’s desperate prods. His face was a dripping shade of scarlet from the heat and his vocabulary consisted of groans that never strayed far from erotic.

He enveloped Jeremy in his entirety, even if his knees weren’t being forced into his pecs like a folded shirt he was sure the Vagabond would still be comfortable swallowing him whole at Jeremys full height.

His eyes were stapled to Jeremy’s groin and Jeremy’s eyes likewise, except the thick layers of tape that gloved his hands made any unzipping unthinkable.

All caught up? Good.

The Vagabond took Jeremys legs and pulled, he slipped down and thudded against the floor.

He just then realised how vulnerable he was.

A serial mass murderer was crouching over him after beating the shit into him with a hard cock and blood swiped over his cheek.

This is when the panic would’ve set in, though Jeremy couldn’t figure out why it didn’t arrive.

As he looked up at the ceiling, he felt fingers pinch the fabric of his boxers — his only remaining clothing — and ceaselessly tear a huge opening right where his hole was.

“I’m going to fuck you open dry, and if you don’t like it, you can _fuck yourself_ when I’m done.”

The head of his cock sizzled with heat as it pushed against him- and into him, with a thrust.

He didn’t grab Jeremys hips as he slammed inside of him again, and again, and again; he steadied himself with both hands on the sides of the wall next to Jeremy’s head and rested his forehead against Jeremy’s.

They shared sweat, passing breaths between eachother like high school love notes.

It felt _right._

It felt like how Jeremy envisioned sex to be like, full of wholesomeness.

His own cock bounced against his stomach with each thrust, stiff. His neck burned as his head was pushed into a 90° angle against the wall but it was so, so good.

Ryan began slowing down, and it was tantalising.

As he pulled out, Jeremy could feel his rim lock into the ridge of Ryan’s cock head, and as he pushed back in he felt him slide over it, Ryan almost slotting into him like he was meant to be inside Jeremy.

It was basically heaven.

He began speeding up again, stiffening with a desperate note to his groans.

Ryan’s eyes were stapled closed throughout his orgasm but Jeremy watched the furrow between his brows ease away, almost missing Ryan pulling himself out as Jeremy fell in love with the way he— the way he_ was_.

Ryan turned around to tuck himself back in, battling with his inner conscience. The softness in Jeremys eyes were contrary to Ryan’s. Disgust was an adequate word to use to describe his feeling.

Ryan thought he was sorry. He didn’t know why, he wasn’t. Sometimes he just needed a quick fuck to bring him back to his senses.

Sub-drop was a thing, right? What about violence-drop? Ryan beat the shit out of this guy and maybe wasn’t in the right headspace for it, that’s okay.

Without thinking so much as a word more, he spun around and decked Jeremy.

Even while being laid on his back against the wall, his head still shot to the ground like it had twice before. But this time, Ryan could feel his socket crack under his fist.

He didn’t watch for the confusion in Jeremy’s eyes before he dropped to balance on one of his fists and leaned in close, feeling his hot breath on his own face and asked;

“So, do you still love me or do I have to go again?”

And he tore the piece of duct tape around his jaw off in one quick motion, forcing him to have to answer fast and now.

“I really, honestly _do_.”

And Ryan started to jackhammer into his skull with his fist, aiming to cave the _fucking_ thing in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila! Chapter 2. Sorry for this one only being 3.5k words, but I’ve already started writing chapter 3 and I intend for it to be a bit more... somber? maybe— but if you guys, the readers, want some more porn then you should totally comment because,  
1- I appreciate comments and   
2- I do this for you (especially you, Saturn)  
so yeah! Hope you enjoyed. Had to spellcheck this TWICE over because I kept forgetting to capitalise shit. Blehhhh. Have a good one!   
-Quinn

**Author's Note:**

> dude, what a ride.   
hope I didn’t gross you out with all that blood!! 
> 
> this was really fun to write, and I cannot wait to get started on the second chapter, which may or may not be influenced by a song 👀👀 [Under My Skin - jukebox the ghost]
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoyed!! —Quinn


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